


(Don't You Dare) Let Go

by notanightlight



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Relationship Over Time, Shenanigans, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5003578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanightlight/pseuds/notanightlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a five word prompt "Dont you dare let go!"</p><p>Over a life time, you may use a phrase many times.  Gimli remembers some of them, all in relation to Legolas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Don't You Dare) Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> (Unbetaed)

The first time had been in the caves of Aglarond, Gimli was sure of that. He had been leading Legolas back towards the surface at the time, and couldn’t have been more pleased with their little adventure. It wasn’t often that he could render his elf speechless.

They were nearly three quarters of the way to the surface by Gimli’s reckoning, passing through a widening in the cavern filled with the sounds of droplets splashing against the stone when it happened. Gimli’s foot slipped on a slick patch of the cavern floor. He managed to save himself from an embarrassing fall, but the torch slipped from his grip, landing with a splash and the sizzle of a flame abruptly doused.

The scenery around them was abruptly plunged into pitch black.

Gimli cleared his throat, blinking his eyes as he waited for them to adjust to the new deeper level of darkness.

“Might want to watch your step around here,” Gimli grumbled, fully expecting to be teased for his stumble with the bite of Elvish wit.

No clever jibes were forthcoming.

“Legolas?” Gimli asked, squinting at the indistinct shapes he was just starting to make out.

The only response was a high, thin, wheezing little sound like nothing he had ever heard an elf make before or since.

Finally, Gimli could make out the slightly paler form of the elf, though the details were still indistinct.

“Legolas? What is wrong, elf?” he asked, more urgently.

“Wrong? Nothing is wrong. It’s merely dark. That doesn’t mean anything is wrong… Does it?” Legolas’s voice was light and airy in a way that sounded patently unwell to Gimli.

Gimli’s brows furrowed, not that his expression could be seen.

“Dear elf, forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem as if all is right. What’s the matter?”

Legolas was quiet for a tense moment before he fairly whimpered, “There aren’t even any stars…”

Gimli blinked hard, not quite believing it. Legolas, who faced down armies and fell beasts, who had seen a Balrog and lived to speak of it, who was willing to face down the cultural enmity of generations for the sake of a single dwarf… was afraid of the dark.

This was too rich!

Gimli couldn’t help the chuckles that slipped from his lips. 

“You cannot be serious! Aren’t your father’s halls underground?”

“Gimli!” Legolas cried indignantly, “This isn’t the time for jokes! And they may be underground, but they are never dark. Not like this! I cannot even see my hand before my face!”

But Gimli could. It seemed his eyes had finally finished adjusting, and with his dark sight he could now clearly see the Elven Prince waving one long fingered hand before his face.

With another chuckle, Gimli reached up and grabbed the hand, halting it’s furious motion. Legolas clutched his hand with a deceptively strong grip.

“Where is that adventurous spirit of yours, Legolas?” Gimli teased. “Surely you’re not going to let a little darkness get the best of you.”

“Gimli…” Legolas said in a warning tone.

“Shall I just leave you here and go fetch a new torch for you?” Gimli replied, making to step away.

The grip on his hand tightened noticeably.

“Don’t you dare let go,” Legolas said with deadly seriousness in his voice.

Gimli chuckled again.

“Alright, alright,” he pacified, “Let’s get you back into the light before you wilt.”

Gimli took pity on his friend, and led him by the hand until they reached the surface.

........................................................................................

The second time it happened was in Fangorn, not even a month after the the first. Gimli would not often admit it, but he had enjoyed their time in the forest as well. There was a sense of the ancient about it that he could respect. Still, trying to follow a Wood Elf through a forest was no easy task, even when said wood elf wanted to be followed.

Legolas led him from site to site in an almost nonsensical pattern, deciding their paths based on the whispers of the trees and his own whims, as far as Gimli could tell. It wasn’t like there were any well packed footpaths to follow.

Neither were there any bridges. 

This turned out to be more of a problem than anticipated. There were two rivers that ran through Fangorn, and Legolas could never seem to decide which side of them he wanted to be on. In several places the elf merely lept from one side to the other or danced across the branches that stretched above the river before realizing that Gimli would not be able to perform the same feat. Then he would cross back over and search for a place along the river where Gimli could actually cross.

And this was why Gimli was trying very valiantly to pick his way across the branches of a half rotted tree that had fallen across one of the rivers. One hand clung to a vine Legolas had stretched from one bank to the other

He had little issue crossing the trunk, but where it changed into a tangle of branches he felt as if he would slip at any minute.

Legolas stood just a few feet away on the other bank, encouraging Gimli and promising that there would be a payoff.

Gimli felt his balance falter as the branch beneath him wobbled and bobbed. He grabbed at the vine with both hands to steady himself, clutching at it until the motion stopped. With a shake of his head he let out a relieved laugh at the close call.

Then the vine snapped, and Gimli felt himself begin to topple towards the waters below.

He let out a shout, flailing and twisting for something to steady himself with. 

Quick as a thought, Legolas darted out onto the branches and snagged a fist full of the thick Dwarven fabric of Gimli’s tunic.

Gimli found himself suspended in a precarious position; facing the water running below him, the sole of only one boot still in contact with the tree branch, and held aloft by the grip of a single Elvish hand.

He turned to glance back at Legolas and found no comfort in the mischievous, contemplative look in those bright Elven eyes. Gimli could not help but be starkly reminded that his friend was a Wood Elf, more notorious for tricks than any other elven kind, who hailed from a forest riddled with magics to deceive misfortunate travelers.

“Legolas…” Gimli warned, in as convincing a voice as he could manage.

An absolutely wicked grin stretched across that fair face.

“Legolas, don’t you dare let go! Don’t you even think-”

The rest was cut off by the sudden rush of water into his mouth.

Gimli surfaced with a wet gasp, cursing furiously at the cackling elf above him. He could just keep his head above the water if he stood on the tips of his toes.

“Just you wait, you spindly, twig brained Elvish gnat!” he spluttered, “I swear I am going to swat you like the annoyance you are! Just get down here and we’ll see if you still feel like laughing!”

“Is that so?” Legolas asked with a patently false sweetness. And with that he launched himself from his perch with a shout, landing not a foot away from Gimli and splashing him with far more water than one skinny elf should displace.

“Now what was that about swatting?” he asked with a grin, darting out of reach like an otter at play.

Gimli answered with a fierce grin of his own, “Just you wait!”

........................................................................................

The third time Gimli could recall was several years later, when he and Legolas were returning from a visit to the Shire. They had decided to make the trip when they received news that young Elanor Gamgee was turning ten. It was hard to make time to travel together with the responsibilities of leadership weighing upon them, but they still tried.

They were passing through the Misty Mountains, commenting as they always did when they traveled this way about how mild the weather was, despite the snow still clinging to the mountain side. After facing down the blizzard of an angry wizard, all snow seemed like a mere dusting.

Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by a low rumble like a roll of thunder.

“Strange,” Legolas commented, glancing upward at the sky, “it doesn’t feel like a storm.”

Gimli was about to reply when another rumble tore through the air.

He watched in awe filled terror as a part of the mountain side ripped itself free, the stony approximation of a hand tearing off a hunk rock and hurling it at another peak.

What happened next, Gimli could never recall quite clearly. He remembered chaos, splinters of stone in the air, frantic shouts, and the terrible realization that the stone giants of his father’s stories had not been embellishments to frighten a young dwarrow. Exactly what he did during that panic was forever lost to him, but the aftermath was crystal clear.

He remembered the sting from dozens of cuts as he clung to a cliffs ledge with one hand and Legolas’s hand in the other, empty air below his feet.

His heart had been racing at a frantic pace as he struggled to find some sort of leverage, a foothold he could use to climb back to safety.

Legolas groaned above him, crouched near the cliff’s edge as he strained to pull Gimli upwards. Gimli could still remember how startled he had been to realize his elf was smeared with dirt and blood. The elf’s eyes were shut tight, a grimace across his face as he strained with the weight. Gimli had never seen such an expression mar that Elven face before.

There was blood soaking the sleeve of Legolas’s tunic, a wide gash gaping in his upper arm. Gimli felt sick looking at it.

Gimli recalled the scrape of stone fragments skittering beneath Legolas’s shoes as his footing slipped forward another inch.

Legolas was strong, far stronger than he appeared, but Gimli knew how heavy he was in full traveling gear. 

A hollow feeling settled in his gut. He was going to fall to his death on the slopes of Caradhras, and he was going to drag Legolas with him.

He shut his eyes blocking out the sight of the struggling elf and focusing instead on the feeling of those strong hands clasped in his own. He did his best to memorize their warmth, and took a deep breath, preparing to let himself fall.

“Don’t you dare let go!”

Gimli’s eyes snapped open and he gaped at the furious elf.

“If you give up on me now, Gimli, I swear to any Valar that will listen I will hunt you down in Aule’s halls and have your beard! Even if it takes me another age!” Legolas hissed through gritted teeth, a glint of desperation in his eyes.

“Right,” Gimli replied, and doubled his efforts.

Finally, when Gimli had finally clambered back to safety, the two sat shoulder to shoulder, quietly marveling at being alive.

Legolas was breathing hard for the first time in Gimli’s recollection, golden strands of hair plastered to the side of his face.

“Don’t go swearing those Elven oaths, Laddie,” Gimli scolded breathlessly, “That’s only asking for trouble to come your way.”

Legolas let out a helpless laugh.

“It would have been worth it,” he murmured in reply.

Slender fingers wove themselves through Gimli’s.

“You would be worth it.”

Gimli squeezed Legolas’s hand gently.

“Come on, Legolas, let me take a look at that arm of yours.

........................................................................................

The last time Gimli is so tired. He is peaceful, but so very tired. There must have been dozens, hundreds of other times in between, but none of them stand out in his mind.

He knows that this will be the last time, and it is a bittersweet thought.

Legolas is looking at him with eyes so full of grief that Gimli can barely stand it. 

For all that Legolas is as young as he has ever been for as long as Gimli’s known him, the elf appears thin, fragile in a way that he never has before.

There are tear stains glistening on his pale cheeks and Gimli wishes he had the strength to reach up and brush them away.

He looks so desolate.

Gimli worries, not for himself, but for his elf. What will he do when he’s gone?

“Come now, love,” Gimli rasps, watching that lovely, stricken face with dimming eyes, “Hang on for me, Legolas. And don’t you dare let go.”

What Legolas does next, he cannot say. 

Gimli knows no more.

 

End.


End file.
